St Jimmy
by Werepuppy Black
Summary: Follow up of sorts to Jesus of Suburbia. A little less than a year on, and Galileo's made some changes to himself. Just as old friends show up for a visit.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:**__ This fic is mostly inspired by the pictures of Tony Vincent in the role of 'St Jimmy' from the American Idiot musical, I will admit it. It just sorta reminded me of the Gazza from my previous Green Day inspired fic – __**Jesus of Suburbia**__ – so I thought I'd revisit that version of our dear Gazza Fizza. For a quick recap for those of you who might not have read it – though you can get it by accessing my profile page – that Galileo was different from the norm in the smallest of respects; he drank, smoked, and slept around. Told you, tiny little changes. Okay, okay, it's a long shot, but let's see what we can come up with here. Trust me people, I know this character (as others love pointing out to me). So, erm, yeah, in short: this is an alternative, 'tougher' Gazza which may or may not follow on from my previous fics with this interpretation of the character... I'll get back to writing the sweet one soon, promise.

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**St Jimmy**

He ran his hands through the unruly mop of top, frowning in the cracked reflective surface he used as a mirror. Cropped sides, and a mohawk on top, it suited him. He pushed back, moving so that he was leaning against the cool stone of the wall behind him. A little less than a year ago, and he was nearly killing himself on a forced detox. Forcing himself off the drugs so he could follow the voices than sung in his head, following his destiny. He let out a soft laugh, picking up the bottle next to him and drinking from it slowly, enjoy the feel of the cool liquid sliding down his throat. Well, he did that alright. He replaced the bottle on the floor, and closed his eyes, relaxing.

After a few minutes, his eyes opened and he stood, slowly, pushing himself off the ground with a grace that he didn't have a year ago. He pulled at the belt holding up the heavily patched trousers, twisting at it so they sat more comfortably, before swooping to grab the bottle and holding it loosely between his fingertips. He left the room he was sitting, moving out into the main tunnel, on a search for one person in particular. He attracted gazes, of course he did, he was the Dreamer after all. It was nothing to do with the fact that he wore nothing under his leather jacket – he claimed it was too warm for a top, though obviously not warm enough that he would forego his precious coat. He came across who he was looking for, and moved up behind them, wrapping his arms around them.

"Hey."

Scaramouche turned round to face him clearly, and her hands reached up, playing with the soft hair that made up his mohawk. "Very rock'n'roll," she commented dryly, a small smirk on her face. "But it does suit you," she assured him. Galileo gave a smirk, as though he had expected no other answer than in the positive. "Stop being so bloody smug," Scaramouche added lightly, stepping back, "and you stink of drink." His smirk grew.

"You love it."

Scaramouche raised her eyebrow, questioning whether or not he meant that. After a moment, she said: "...Maybe." He nodded. "You're quiet," she noted, "much on your mind, Dreamer boy?"

"Singing songs forever and a day," Galileo replied, much to her annoyance.

"Again with being bloody cryptic?" Scaramouche rolled her eyes. There was a brief pause as she narrowed them, "... the drink's the only thing you're on, right?"

"High on life, babe," he replied with a crooked smile. He wrapped his arms around her again. "Can I steal the image in your kiss?" he muttered in her ear, pulling her in as close as he dared. She frowned, face softening slowly.

"You already have it."


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N:_**_ A big thank you to xXGagaGirlXx for the help with the Scara dialogue!

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"Hi Jimmy."

The voice was one that Galileo hadn't heard in a while, and the name was one he hadn't used for a bit longer than that. He stood, looking at the speaker with an unusual expression, halfway between hatred and friendship. "Tunny," he said slowly, as though he weren't completely sure if this was Tunny standing in front of him. It certainly looked like Tunny, with the long multi coloured hair, and hazel eyes. The fashion sense still hadn't improved either, if the cut-offs were anything to go by – Tunny had always been too tall for the cut-off jean shorts he insisted on wearing. Tunny smirked, the smirk that Galileo knew belonged exclusively to his old... frienemy, and his eyes narrowed. The next thing Tunny felt was an extreme pain, as Galileo rammed his fist into his stomach.

"What the _hell_, Gaz!" Scaramouche yelled, seeing the incident. She stomped over, helping Tunny up from his foetal position on the floor. "You alright, mate?" she asked, still shooting furious glares at a disinterested Galileo. Tunny managed a weak smile up at her.

"Oh, I'm fine, Jimmy's always been like that," he said, the words sounding oddly friendly. Scaramouche frowned. _Jimmy_? Galileo had told that he'd gone through different names before deciding who he really was, but... Jimmy? _**Really?**_ "We get on well enough really."

"No we don't you little -"

"Jimmy?" Galileo was interrupted by a softer voice, one more decidedly high pitched but as equally as familiar, and as unwelcome. "Jimmy, it's so good to see you again," the girl said, rushing forward to grab Galileo in a hug. Scaramouche frowned at the girl. She was reasonably tall, with that somehow perfectly messed hair, with smudged eyeliner. She wore a short dress, or was it a long top, with fishnet stockings, with thigh high black boots. She was the type of girl people would have expected Galileo to be dating, and by the looks of it, she thought that as well. "I've missed you so much," she said, burying her head into his chest.

"...Can't say it's mutual," Galileo forced out, looking anywhere but at the girl. He grabbed her arms, pushing her away from him. "What are you doing here? I told you last time, I want nothing more to do with you, Whatsername. You or Tunny," he added, shooting a glare over at the guy, who smirked back.

"You've said that lots, Jimmy," the girl, Whatsername, replied, "You've never meant it before," she smiled coyly, leaning in, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on his chest.

"Who the hell is she then?" Scaramouche cut in angrily. She was not, by nature, a jealous person, but everyone had their limit, she was just experiencing one of hers. "And why are they calling you 'Jimmy', Gaz?" she added, folding her arms over her chest, and fixing him with a deadly glare. Galileo looked over to her, once again pushing Whatsername away from him.

"Scara," he began, only to be interrupted by Whatsername.

"You know," she said, tossing her hair back over her shoulder in a ridiculously stylised manner that had so obviously been practised many times to achieve the best result. "I really don't see how that's any of your business," she looked Scaramouche up and down with an unpleasant look on her face, suggesting that she really didn't think much of Scaramouche at all. Galileo shot her a warning look, and Scaramouche directed the deadly glare towards her.

"I'm sorry, I know you look very gender confused," she said, in a sickly sweet tone of voice that she often used at her most dangerous, "but you're not Gaz, so don't try answering for him." There was no way to properly describe the venom contained in Scaramouche's voice. "And get your soddin' hands off him. _Now_," she added in a semi growl. Whatsername's hands dropped to her sides quickly. She didn't dare try to speak out again; something about the shorter girl just unnerved her.

**xXx**

It was later on that night before Scaramouche approached the topic. In hindsight, Galileo realised that he should have seen this coming, but he had been too focused on their upcoming gig. "So yeah, next gig, I'm thinking if we change the song order, we can probably get in some of those newer ones, maybe that one you like, with the gentle guitar instead of the hard rock?" he suggested to Scaramouche, who was looking away in a slight daze.

"Guitar... yeah..." she replied, not entirely 'with' the conversation. Galileo did notice that, to give him some credit.

"You alright?" he asked. Scaramouche looked up, quickly pasting on a smile

"Yep," she said, her smile widening slightly. "I'm fine. Absolutely," she assured him. "So yeah... change the song order. Good idea." Galileo nodded, satisfied that Scaramouche was okay, and was agreeing with his plans.

"Yeah," he said, "an' I was thinking we'd maybe try for some, erm," he paused, as his mind searched for the word he needed, sounding it out slowly, "medleys," he smiled at the word, "for a few of –"

"Y'know," Scaramouche cut in suddenly, "speaking of good ideas, I was wondering something." Galileo blinked, wondering what it was she was going on about. "I mean... of course, all good ideas seem that way at the time," she continued, looking at a point just to the side of Galileo's head. "But I wonder how long it might be before you realise that it was actually a bad idea and regret it."

"...What?"

"Sure, it might seem like a good idea _now_, changing the song order," she said, her hands moving, illustrating her words in the air. It was a nervous habit of hers that very few people got to see. "But who knows, people might generally be quite comfortable with how things were to begin with and, maybe by changing things..." her voice grew softer, and her hands stopped waving around as much, "...you've just messed up someone's life."

Galileo blinked again. "...This isn't about song order is it?"

Scaramouche shrugged slightly. "I'm just saying Gaz, hypothetically, that some people really quite like the way things are. Might even love it," she added, as though it were an afterthought, but something about the way she said it suggested that it might be a clue as to her real point. "And you can't just stroll in and change everything and expect them to not hold it against you. Some people love the set the way it is, and I expect you don't really love the set at all..."

Galileo sighed, realising what Scaramouche's problem was now. To be fair to him, Scaramouche considered any true problems relating to her to be private and personal, so it wasn't often people got to hear about them. Oh, she may yell loudly, expressing her anger about a situation, but that might not be the entire story, and no one but Scaramouche would know that. "Whatsername," he said.

"No," Scaramouche deadpanned. "Set lists." A scowl set itself on her face. "Of course Whatsername, you wally," she snapped. Galileo found himself sighing again. Whatsername and Tunny, those two always brought badness to him.

"Yeah, well, care to explain in detail, or shall I just try to guess what your problem is?" He asked. "'Cause, believe me, there's a big list to chose from," he added, no real malice behind the words, though that did nothing to stop Scaramouche's scowl from deepening.

"All those words and sounds in your head, and yet, you're still to dream up a witty response," she shot at him. "Funny that." She closed her eyes slightly, a way of making sure she was calm enough to not start snapping again. "Aside from the all too obvious problem of having a complete duh-brain for a boyfriend, it's just that I've been hearing some tall tales about you, Figaro." There was a pause. "Y'know. Nothing major. Just stories about you stealing other people's girlfriends away from them, just for fun." So that was what she had been up to earlier in the day, Galileo realised dimly. There was a silence between the two. "Like I said no biggy; for an insensitive arsehole."

"I didn't steal anyone who didn't want to be stolen," Galileo said as a defence. Scaramouche shot him a scathing look, obviously not approving of what he had said.

"Everyone _wants_ to be stolen Gaz," she told him, "it's flattering. Nobody seems to like the total abandonment thing though," she commented casually. "Or being fucked over by their best friend!"

"Tunny was _not_ my best friend," Galileo shot at her. He scowled, and slumped slightly in his seat. "Best enemy fits him a helluva lot better," he muttered, loud enough for Scaramouche to hear what he was saying.

"Best friend, best enemy," Scaramouche waved her hand dismissively. "It's the same difference Gaz."

"I hate him," Galileo stressed, before shrugging his shoulders, "he loves me."

"Sounds a lot like me and you."


	3. Chapter 3

Whatsername wasn't always Whatsername, but she was always gorgeous, and well aware of this fact. Every guy, be they zone clone or Bohemian wanted her, and she enjoyed playing. She would sweet talk the guy, make him feel special, unique for just one night, and then she was gone, leaving them with the fondest of memories. She, on the other hand, simply got an itch scratched. None of them ever meant anything to her, and she never wanted any of them to mean anything to her.

Until Jimmy that was

Jimmy was the person to be around. Oh, the zone clones and the plastic bitches scoffed and sneered, but she saw the way they looked at him when they didn't think people were watching. The bitches lusted, and the clones seethed, jealously raging from them. Jimmy was cool, slick, and as razor sharp as a knife's edge. He was forever on the run from the Police, always that one step ahead of them, and taunting them with a kiss. He was everything the bulletins of MyFaceBookWorldSpacePage warned them to avoid, and she had never found herself wanting just to be looked at more.

And he did. He chose then, her and him, and gave them names: Whatsername and Tunny, and gave them their identities. They had only existed before, now they were _living_.

They ran. They didn't stop till they were underground and away from the corporate society that choked them. Jimmy always said the city was burning, that it wasn't his burden. Tunny didn't understand, and neither did she, but they agreed with him. They always did. He needed their agreement, it kept him as Jimmy. Whatever the case, in her new persona, Whatsername was more alluring that the girl she had been before, and she was fixated solely on Jimmy. Oh, she had played with Tunny, but it was nothing serious. He was sweet, and devoted to her, but he wasn't Jimmy. He was a means to an end and didn't he just hate it? That wasn't to say he wasn't using Whatsername either. Both of them had fallen for Jimmy, but both couldn't win him.

She got the closest to winning him, and oh, how he burned as they danced. In the dark of the night when they were spent and he rolled to his side – he touched her afterwards - she would hear him talk in his sleep. She had never been as infuriated by one word as she had by the way the name 'Scaramouche' slipped from his mouth one night. She knew that she would never have him, from this one word. It slipped from his mouth, yes. But it slipped with such a tone of reverence that Whatsername could have sworn her heart broke.

The next morning, she had put a plan into place. She acted as the perfect girlfriend, making Jimmy feel guilty – if he could – about anything wrong he did towards her, and milking that guilt for all it was worth. No, it wasn't nice, but Whatsername had never once claimed to be a nice person. She was just desperate to keep Jimmy around, to keep that feeling of being so very special that she could only get when he was near her.

He left not long later, leaving her only a later:

_I'm not the Jesus of Suburbia.  
The St. Jimmy is a figment of my father's rage and my mother's love.  
Made you the idiot Stateside-r. _

_I can't take this place.  
I'm leaving it behind_

_I can't take this town.  
I'm leaving you tonight._


End file.
